Madame Leon was leaving the room, and a
moment later Marguerite heard the house-door leading into the
garden open and shut again. There was nothing extraordinary about
such an occurrence, and yet a strange misgiving assailed her.
Why, she could not explain; but many trivial circumstances,
suddenly invested with a new and alarming significance, recurred
to her mind. She remembered that Madame Leon had been restless
and nervous all the evening. The housekeeper, who was usually so
inactive, who lounged in her arm-chair for hours together, had
been moving uneasily about, going up and down stairs at least a
dozen times, and continually glancing at her watch or the clock.
Twice, moreover, had the concierge come to tell her that some one
wished to see her. "Where can she be going now, at midnight?"
thought Mademoiselle Marguerite; "she who is usually so timid?"
At first, the girl resisted her desire to solve the question; her
suspicions seemed absurd to her, and, besides, it was distasteful
to her to play the spy. Still, she listened, waiting to hear
Madame Leon re-enter the house. But more than a quarter of an
hour elapsed, and yet the door did not open or close again.
Either Madame Leon had not left the house at all, or else she was
still outside. "This is very strange!" thought Mademoiselle
Marguerite. "Was I mistaken? I must convince myself." And,
obeying a mysterious influence, stronger than her own will, she
left the room and went down the stairs.
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